


Many Hands

by Phosfate



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: Gen, Gore, lots of gore, really there's so much gore I can't even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-06
Updated: 2009-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosfate/pseuds/Phosfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The NWA demonstrate the small-town values of cooperation, mutual support, and local self-sufficiency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Many Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Crit is love.

_**fic post: 'many hands' (hot fuzz)**_  
TITLE: Many Hands  
FANDOM: Hot Fuzz  
AUTHOR: annlarimer  
WORD COUNT: 700ish  
RATING: PG  
WARNINGS: American spelling; gore  
SUMMARY: The NWA demonstrate the small-town values of cooperation, mutual support, and local self-sufficiency.  
NOTES: Crit is love.  
DISCLAIMER: Hot Fuzz belongs to Big Talk and Rogue and, y'know, all them guys.

"There you are," Joyce Cooper chirruped, floofing open a black bin liner. "Many hands make light work!"

"Very true," said Robin Hatcher. "Thank you, Joyce." He bent over Martin Blower's dressing table, bone saw in hand.

She smiled. "You're welcome."

Supervising from the dressing-room doorway, Frank Butterman smiled at his colleagues. Harmony, he thought. Harmony is our watchword.

"Wait," said a voice. 

Dammit. "Is there a problem, Simon?"

"It's just -- I'm sorry, Robin -- it's Doctor Hatcher's saw." Simon Skinner turned from the bloodstained wall, squirt bottle of peroxide in hand. There was no small amount of splatter, as was to be expected when a swinging axe met a brace of carotid arteries. "I'm sorry, I really must object."

"Oh, there's a shock," Joyce muttered.

Dr. Hatcher winked at her, then turned to Skinner. "I need it to remove Miss Draper's head. It's not quite off." The recently late Eve Draper stared up sightlessly from the dresser, which had been drafted as a temporary operating table.

Ronnie Butcher had done an excellent and efficient job of dispatching both Martin Blower and Eve Draper with his axe. Mr. Blower was headless, albeit still bespectacled; Miss Draper was only _nearly_ headless, but had undergone LASIK surgery in Bristol, at Mr. Blower's expense. Ronnie had then vacated the tiny dressing room to give the others room to work. He and his brother Ron were now transporting Mr Blower's car to a lay-by at the edge of town. Truly they were multi-talented.

"I'm sorry, but using a bone saw... it really isn't striking her head from her shoulders." Skinner made the guillotine-y gesture they'd all come to loathe in recent weeks. But, in all fairness, Frank thought, he looked genuinely distressed.

"It's how they taught us to do it at St. Swithin's," Doctor Hatcher said mildly.

"I do understand," Skinner said. "But I'm not talking about correct medical procedure, Doctor, I'm talking about poetic justice."

"Hold on, Sissy, let's stick to first principles," Amanda Paver's voice, followed by Amanda Paver, rose up from below. She had been set to blotting and spraying the tile floor. She was working her way through a pile of white towels which, by morning, would be laundered and returned to the Sandford Primary School gymnasium. "We're killing them -- well, have killed them -- because they're bloody annoying, not for your poncey notions of--"

Skinner bristled. "Poncey?"

"Poncey, sir!"

Being a good leader means knowing when to let your team members solve disputes on their own, and when to step in. Frank held up his hands. "Hold on, hold on, we're all friends here. There's no reason to argue. Simon, you object to Dr. Hatcher's technique, because you feel that the correct method would be to perform the decapitation with one continuing stroke or blow -- or in this case at least finish the job. Correct?"

"Exactly!"

"All right. How would we do this, here and now, with the instruments on hand? Ronnie took his axe with him when he left. Doctor Hatcher has his saw, and I assume a few choice scalpels in his bag. I have a pocketknife."

"I have a Leatherman," Amanda Paver put in.

"Yes. And while these instruments..."

"It has a corkscrew."

"Thank you, Amanda. And while these are all entirely serviceable instruments to one degree or another, when it comes to delivering a single finishing blow...?"

Enlightenment dawned on Skinner's face. "Oh, I see."

Frank smiled. "They're too small, aren't they?"

"By God, Frank, when you're right, you're right. Practicality, in this case, must trump poetry."

"Good man." Frank clapped him on the back.

Skinner turned to Dr. Hatcher. "Robin, old horse, I'm sorry. You're entirely right. Please forgive my outburst and carry on."

"Quite all right. Least said, soonest mended." Hatcher returned to his sawing.

"Not for these two, eh?" said Frank, inclining his head at Miss Draper and the already divided Mr Blower.

The room erupted in laughter.

There was a melonish thunk as Eve Draper's head came loose and plopped into the bin bag.

"Oh, well done!" said Joyce.

It's nice when we all get along, thought Frank. Really, there's no dispute that can't be settled with reasonable discussion amongst friends.

"Tell you what," said Skinner. "When we've all knocked off for the night, breakfast is on me."

Everyone applauded.

Then they returned to dealing with the corpses, and cleaning the blood spray off the walls.


End file.
